To me, we are statues

To me, we are statues.
Our love doesn't age,
It doesn't crumble,
It stays passionately, hopefully, painfully perfect.
Our skin goes grey,
Our arms and legs crumble and age,
Cracks appear, leaving us scarred.
But we are statues.
People pass by us and don't see how we have become worn from time,
They see our love; naked and beautiful.
The people wipe a tear as they stare in awe,
Your hand carefully holding my thigh of marble tightly,
My head resting on your bronze shoulder.
For eternity is the least I can ask for,
For eternity, I wish to be holding you,
For eternity, I wish for you to be holding me.
Because to me, we are statues.